


The House Guest

by sonictrowel



Series: Long Night in the Blue House [12]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Gen, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-30 22:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10173503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonictrowel/pseuds/sonictrowel
Summary: On one otherwise-ordinary Tuesday evening, the Doctor and River had their first house guest.The Doctor was simmering soup and loading the bread oven with a loaf of sourdough when he heard River in the lounge, in cheerful and deeply engaged conversation with another female voice.  There were never non-River people in the lounge.  Or indeed in any other rooms of the TARDIS-house.He pressed himself to the wall just behind the kitchen doorframe, listening to the sound of aged textbook pages flipping and some boring archaeological terms being tossed about.  In the midst of a lot of graverobber gobbledygook, the word “Gallifrey” leapt out at him.  He choked on air.  River was definitely not supposed to be telling anyone about that!





	

 

“I hate having to keep this from you,” the Doctor said, swinging his legs and staring down at his knees.  “I thought we were done with all of that.  It feels so wrong now.”

A soft sea breeze swept in, a chorus of whispers cascading through the leaves of the enormous tree.  It had been a relief when he figured out how to move their astral meetings out of that specific memory and into a less fraught mental setting, and Calderon Beta was the obvious choice.

“It’s spoilers, honey.  It’s different,” said River, leaning her shoulder against his.  “I understood there were things you still couldn’t tell me.”

“And you must’ve thought none of them were good,” he said darkly.

“I really just tried not to think of it.  I couldn’t very well have gone to my death expecting that you’d found a way round it— I might’ve made a different choice and changed everything if I thought I wasn’t supposed to die.”

“I wish you could.”  The Doctor raised his gaze to meet hers. 

“Oh sweetie, that baby face really can pout.  I’m here, aren’t I?”  She squeezed his hand, giving him a reassuring little smile.

The Doctor still hadn’t figured out how to get his “body” up to speed with his current regeneration in these particular dreams.  The longer he spent as Bow Tie, the less he felt like his present self, and more like a mixture of the two.  It was a little odd— though of course, he already was a mixture of all of his predecessors.  At least this one was recent enough to still be familiar, after all the centuries he spent with it.

A thought suddenly occurred to him.  “River, do you see me often?  Future me?”

She only gave him that all-too-familiar smile.  “Spoilers.”

“Oh, come on.  What’s the harm in telling me that?”

“I’ve already given you plenty of sneak previews.  You _are_ still indirectly poking about in your own timestream, even if you have to because you know you already have done.  Best not to push it, don’t you think?”

“So no hints on exactly what to do with the Hazandra, then.”

“I have every confidence that you’ll figure it out, darling.”

“But when _are_ you, River?  I’ve seen you so many times now— how long past Trenzalore?  I’ll have to find the right point in your timestream so that it’s after all of our meetings.  But I don’t want to make you wait a minute more than you have to.”

She smiled warmly and brushed his hair out of his eyes.  “Well, I’m on a hard drive.  I can sort of… go on sleep mode?  So it doesn’t always have to feel like a lot of waiting.  But don’t worry.  When the time is right you’ll know.”

“Guessing I told you that?”

River raised her eyebrows at him and pursed her lips.

“Right, right.  Spoilers.”  He sighed.  “Well.  Looking forward to having it all figured out, I suppose.”

“How are you feeling about it?  The Hazandra." 

“How am I— oh.  You know about Grant, then.”  The Doctor stared down into the distant black sea, starlight rippling on the myriad crests of waves.  “He’s just a boy.”

“You know you’re thousands of years after his lifetime,” she said gently.  “Just because it still exists after he’s gone doesn’t mean he didn’t have a long, full life, or that you’re taking something from him.”

“Yes, well, an archaeologist _would_ have to think that.”

“Really, now, you’re going with insulting the ghost of your dead wife?  I’m not beyond haunting you again, you know.”

“I’d welcome you to, but I’ve got my hands full with one of you already.”

“Oh that’s alright, I like to watch.”

_“River!”_

___

On one otherwise-ordinary Tuesday evening, the Doctor and River had their first house guest.

The Doctor was simmering soup and loading the bread oven with a loaf of sourdough when he heard River in the lounge, in cheerful and deeply engaged conversation with another female voice.  There were never non-River people in the lounge.  Or indeed in any other rooms of the TARDIS-house.

He pressed himself to the wall just behind the kitchen doorframe, listening to the sound of aged textbook pages flipping and some boring archaeological terms being tossed about.  In the midst of a lot of graverobber gobbledygook, the word “Gallifrey” leapt out at him.  He choked on air.  River was definitely not supposed to be telling anyone about that!

 _“Darling,”_ River called out, and he instantly froze, “are you going to keep hiding back there or are you going to come greet our guest?”

The Doctor emerged into the lounge, dusting flour from his hands onto his apron, looking suitably grumpy and embarrassed.  

“Oh, it’s you,” he said.

“Alright, Dickinson,” the hair poofs girl said brightly.  “Dinner smells fantastic.”

The Doctor quirked an eyebrow at her, and so did River.

“He was quoting poetry about you at the dig last month,” the girl explained to River.  “Didn’t think they made romantics like him anymore,” she sighed dramatically.

The Doctor flushed and stuttered.

“Oh, they definitely don’t,” River replied with a grin, enjoying herself and his discomfort _far_ too much.

“I’d’ve gone with Emily over Dickinson, but it might have got confusing,” she said, turning back to the Doctor.  “Name’s Milly.”  She extended her hand.  

The Doctor shook it begrudgingly.

“Milly’s working as my teaching assistant and I’m going to be advising her on her dissertation,” River explained.

“Ah, right,” the Doctor eagerly seized on a different topic of conversation, “what is it then, preservation techniques for ancient curries plundered from the tombs of the Osirans?”

“Actually, it’s the intuitive gemstones of the Apocalypse Monks of the Andurax,” Milly said.

“Oh.”

Dream River might’ve mentioned her little minion would be coming along to bollocks things up.  As if he needed another source of stress to deal with while having to hide it from his wife.

“What’ve you got on in there?” Milly asked, taking an exaggerated whiff, “Potato leek?”

“Ah... yeah,” said the Doctor, reeling his mind back from racing to a million possible locations of the Hazandra at various points in time.  “I’ve got leeks in the back garden now— one of the only things that’ll grow at buggering negative fifteen.”

“Oh, brilliant!” she enthused.  “What else have you got?”

“Parsnips and kale,” he said, waiting for the part where someone was going to start teasing him again.  River was smiling and, he thought, quite purposefully not interrupting.  “Took some volcanic soil from the cavern. And I might’ve messed with the genes, a bit,” he added.

“Is that what you’re Doctor of then, plant genetics?  Molecular bio?”

“Ehh, something like that.”

“You must’ve hybridised them with a low-light, cold hardy species— Antarctic macroalgae maybe?”

“Phyllophora,” said the Doctor, fixing her with an intense stare.  He could feel the eyebrows going at it.  “It was River’s idea.  Where did you—”

The faint ding of the TARDIS-oven sounded from the kitchen.

“That’ll be the bread,” he said, hesitating for a moment before retreating from the lounge.

He was cranking open the oven door when he realised he’d been followed.  

“Oh, that smells like heaven,” said Milly.  “I haven’t had fresh-baked sourdough in ages.  Do you do your own starter?”

“I do, actually,” said the Doctor, scooping the loaf out and transferring it to the worktop. 

“How’s the local flora for that?  Is there indigenous wild yeast on Darillium or something like a zymomonas bacteria?”

The Doctor gave her another appraising glance.  She was awfully clever for someone throwing away her curiosity and intellect on an archaeology doctorate.  But then, he’d probably better not say that where the cleverest person in the room could hear.

“It’s a saccharomycetaceae species,” he said, catching his wife’s eye.

“Milly, join us for dinner, won’t you?” River asked.

“Oh, cheers, Professor!  I’d love to give Doctor Dickinson’s cooking a try.” 

“Take a seat then, Mils,” he said, maybe sounding just a touch too cheerful.  “Soup'll be ready in a jiff.” 

Mils?   _Oh._  It just slipped out, but— that was it.  That’s who she reminded him of, and not just her looks.  Less thievey and murdery, but with all of the fierce intellect and enthusiasm of his young River, without the brainwashing bits.  He smiled to himself and looked over at River again.  She had on that smug face she got when she’d manipulated him into paying attention to another person.

“Now, what has River told you about our house?  Cause I’ve got some cabinets you might find interesting.”

___

Over the ensuing months, Milly became a regular guest, frequently holing up in the study with River and a pile of books, lesson plans, and her latest dissertation pages.  The Doctor made the two of them tea and biscuits while they worked, and enjoyed listening to his wife being a brilliant, encouraging mentor to the young woman, even if the subject matter _was_ archaeological.  He also, unfortunately, needed to keep an ear open to Milly’s research, lest she come in search of the Hazandra, which was definitely _not_ in his sock drawer.

Milly was incredibly clever, not to mention a very competent sous-chef when he needed an extra pair of hands in the kitchen.  She seemed to have quite a varying and wide-ranging knowledge of the hard sciences as well, but he already had plenty of experience with one genius who decided to waste her talents on archaeology.  He was sure that Milly, too, would do as she liked regardless of what he thought about it.

One morning, the Doctor shuffled out of the bedroom in his slippers and dressing gown, switched on the sunlamp in the lounge, and found her curled up under a blanket on the sofa.  Well.  River had neglected to mention that to him last night, but looking back, he might have kept her distracted from pretty much the moment she got into bed.  He took a look out the window and saw that a blizzard was still raging outside— not an unusual state of affairs for this time of night on Darillium.  He retrieved another blanket from the actual linen cupboard and spread it over the girl.  Humans, you know— they got cold easily.  She stirred a little, but didn’t open her eyes.  He went to put the kettle on.

River joined him in the kitchen just when he was pouring the tea, a little smile on her face when she glanced back into the lounge and then at the third steaming teacup on the worktop.  The Doctor pulled her to him wordlessly and kissed her.  “Usually I notice when we’ve adopted one,” he muttered, bopping her on the nose.

“Usually, you’re the one who does it,” River responded in a whisper, reaching behind him for her teacup without moving out of his arms.

“Well, I hardly expected to have any companions along when we’re not _going_ anywhere.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t be going full-time,” a sleepy voice called from the lounge.

“Tea’s done, Mils,” the Doctor called back.

She came into the kitchen a minute later, yawning.  “Eugh, you two, get a room,” she said, making a sour face.

The Doctor tightened his arms around River’s waist defiantly and River hid her smile behind her teacup.

“We’ve got one,” said the Doctor.  “In point of fact, all of these are our rooms.”

“Could do with thicker walls,” Milly grimaced.  “I’ll have nightmares.  It’s quieter in the hall at uni and that’s saying something.”

River had the decency to look embarrassed.  The Doctor gave her a raised eyebrow that clearly said “that was all you." 

“Respect your elders, Mils.  Your lovely professor here could’ve turfed you out in the cold last night.  We’ll set you up a room after breakfast.”

“Yeah?” Milly asked, her disgust forgotten in her enthusiasm.

“I’m sure the TARDIS can come up with something suitable.  For the next time there’s a white-out.”

“Better than my room at uni, I'm sure. Oh, to not have a bunk bed!” Milly sighed dreamily into her teacup.

River smirked at the Doctor.

“Everyone’s a critic,” he mumbled.

  



End file.
